Kevin floated up to the surface. The first sensations were tactile. His side, leg, and chest felt drastically different the rest of his body. It wasn’t pain, just different. Pain didn’t even exist. Kevin’s entire being was a soft lightness.

Next, came the noise. Initially, it was an indistinguishable soundscape. Then, the sounds began to separate. Beeping, buzzing, and other mechanical noises. Voices. Words were a bridge too far. None of the voices inspired familiarity. The pleasant malaise that hung over Kevin’s mind kept him from attempting to further discern the content of conversation. The voices stimulated the same synapses as birds chirping on a morning walk.

“Kid?” A woman’s voice that Blackout couldn’t place.

Finally, Kevin’s eyelids lifted like the opening curtain to a play. Harsh brightness assaulted his eyes. The intensity forced him to immediately slam them shut again. A few blinks, and the brightness subsided into something more manageable. The wall of shining white melted into vague geometric shapes, and gradually settled into increasing detail. The sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bounced around the glossy tiles and white walls.

Cradling Kevin’s body was a thin, sagging mattress. A scratchy, insubstantial blanket did little to shield him from the cold air of the room. The only other thing between his body and the elements was a puny medical gown. Around his eyes was the familiar impression of a cowl, but unlike the one from his super suit, this one was papery and abrasive to his skin.

Beside the bed, a woman came into focus, sitting on a stool, flipping idly through some pamphlet. The recognition Blackout registered drew more from pictures and video than personal experience. The name Deathknell materialized in Kevin’s mind. Memories fluttered back. The bridge. The blast. The spike. Blackout clutched at his torso, but found no protrusion.

“Hey, kid,” Deathknell said.

“Wh-wh-” Blackout tried, but his throat was too dry, and his mind too clouded.

“Don’t pull a muscle,” Deathknell chuckled. “First time in Medbay, huh?”

Blackout nodded. Medbay wasn’t an official name. The hospital was technically called Sage Memorial Hospital. Sage was a healing mage who lost her life saving civilians during the Calamity in 1981. The hospital was a much more recent construction, opening its doors eleven years earlier. Medbay was an antiquated reference from a time before the Guild was even a Guild. Back then, it was the League and a loose confederation of supportive allies. The Medbay was a wing of the League Headquarters, which was the only place in the world with the facilities specialized enough to be suitable for superhumans. When the headquarters moved to the current campus in 1968, the Medbay became its own separate facility. Eventually, the expansion of the league necessitated an entire hospital, which was proposed back in 1983. The opening was stymied until 2011 due to budgetary setbacks, infuriating regulatory meddling, and bureaucratic entanglements. Most of the Guild still referred to it as Medbay, but the youngest crop of heroes-Blackout included-were beginning to spurn tradition, simply calling it Sage.

“Take it from someone who’s here a lot: they’re going to give you vanilla pudding. It’s shit. It doesn’t taste like anything. Ask for chocolate. They’ll say they don’t have it. They’re lying. Ask twice.”

“F-Flash Bang?” Blackout powered through his vocal atrophy.

Deathknell’s mouth grew into a sealed little grin.

“So heroic,” Deathknell faked an exaggerated swoon. “Flash Bang’s fine. Well-he’s going to be fine. He’s still in critical care, but he’s stable. I’ve seen him in worse shape. He’s alive because of you. So am I. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’ve been here the whole time?”

The question elicited a big laugh from Deathknell.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Fuck no. You’ve been out for a week. What am I, your wife? That Asian family was looking for volunteers to sit here every day for visiting hours so you wouldn’t be alone. I took a couple of shifts. Actually, let me send a text to the group chat that you’re awake.”

As Deathknell busied herself on her phone, the gears were jostling loose in Blackout’s mind. Who’d been taking shifts? The Phans had evidently organized the entire endeavor, so they were clearly in the mix. That certainly meant Grace had been by his side for at least some of his unconscious week. Had she been alone with him, or only along with her aunt and uncle? The Knights were an obvious pair of visitors. Though their last interaction had been slightly sour, Chunk was not the kind of person that would choose a grudge over his ailing friend. Beyond that, Blackout couldn’t think of a single other person who may have shown up. It was possible that the director had stopped by out of obligation. That was scraping the bottom of the barrel as far as guesses went.

Deathknell’s phone, until then, dormantly resting on her knee, awoke with a furious flurry of buzzes and lights.

“Looks like the cavalry’s on its way. Good timing, too. I have to run.”

Who was the cavalry? Blackout assumed at least a few of his guesses would be joining him, but the number of buzzes far outnumbered his own headcount.

“You’re leaving?” Blackout’s disappointment cut through his lightheaded haze. He hardly knew Deathknell at all, but her presence was comforting.

“Yeah, I’m still on rescue rotation. Guild rules say I have to be at HQ during on call hours.”

“Oh…” Blackout’s disappointment seeped into his voice.

“Don’t go all postpartum on me. I’ll be back.”

Deathknell gathered herself up, tossing the pamphlet aside. Only then did Blackout notice that Deathknell’s iconic katana was leaned up against the wall behind her. It was so mundane. The drugs that had dulled Blackout’s senses kept him from getting locked up and star struck around the celebrity in his midst. Seeing Deathknell grab the katana and sling it over her shoulder stirred a dormant awe in Blackout. As she headed toward the door, Deathknell appeared to be engaged in a vigorous internal debate. After a tense moment, she spoke.

“Look, I wanted to tell you-I’m really not supposed to tell you. But, I guess-if it were me-I’d want someone to tell me. You’re going to get a visit from a Guild media agent. I know the guy. Don’t trust him.”

Several puzzle pieces in Blackout’s mind were bumping up against each other, failing to snap into place. Why was the Guild sending a media agent? Those were for famous heroes. Blackout was a nobody. Why on earth did Deathknell feel the need to warn Blackout about him? Was he evil?

“Is he a…villain?” Blackout’s drugged up voice made the question come out sounding extraordinarily dumb.

Deathknell shook her head and laughed, more to herself than at Blackout.

“Worse. He’s a fucking snake. All the media guys are. Listen, things are going to change for you. They’re never going to be the same. A lot of people are going to crowd you, feeding you all sorts of bullshit. You’re going to want to trust them because they’re going to act like they have all the answers. Don’t trust them. Trust yourself.”

The concepts Deathknell was delivering were too complex for Blackout to decipher in his current state. What did she mean by “things are going to change”? Which things? Why were they changing? Why were people going to crowd him? The volume of questions was enough to short circuit Blackout’s brain. All he could do was stare stupidly at Deathknell. She shook her head once again, this time without a laugh.

“Are you the guy who killed the Isakovs?” The wording of the question made it seem rhetorical, but Deathknell’s expectant gaze indicated otherwise.

A rush of memories flooded Blackout’s headspace. The hulking form of Pavel Isakov pushing his way through the shipping container. The flash of light. Pavel hitting the ground. Roughing up Ilya. Gunshot. Ilya’s skull crunching against his fist. The body. The lifeless body.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to…Pavel, the light hit his head. Ilya-I wasn’t trying to-I just punched…he was so fragile. I just punched once-then, he was-he was dead.”

Deathknell leaned back against the doorframe.

“You could’ve lied to me. You could’ve said you took them both down. I’d never know the difference.”

The statement proved insoluble for Blackout’s brain.

“But that’s not what happened…” Blackout said, puzzled.

Deathknell gently conked her head back onto the metal of the threshold.

“Yeah, that’s what makes it a lie. The media people are going to try to get you to tell the lie.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes you look like a badass, and it’s their job to sell you. Don’t be the guy from the lie. Be the guy from the bridge. Don’t mix those two up.”

With a nod, Deathknell took her leave. Blackout was left behind to figure out the enigmas she’d dropped in his lap. The fuzz in his brain that had been such a lovely reprieve, was now a frustrating obstacle. Without any answers bubbling up from his logical centers, Blackout slumped back into bed. He resolved to commit Deathknell's words to his memory, vowing to decrypt them later.

A nurse entered the room holding a cup of vanilla pudding. Ask for chocolate, Blackout reminded himself. Ask twice.